Sunshine on my Shoulder

Seven weeks, two days. This is what home looks like. Officially, it is still homelessness. That is what it will stay. It is still better than being on the streets.

Living in a hotel, with a few remnants left from a former life I can barely recall.

This is living high, because it only goes down from here.

I painted this collage painting of the Santa Monica Pier at sunset, one of my favorite places,

to put up on our bare walls. I hate having to just look at generic hotel prints all day long. I don't even have any photos of my own children to put into frames, right now.

Everything is about the money, money, money.

Still, I try to make this room feel like a home using all the brightest colored things I can find. We packed up bright colored blankets and a string of Christmas lights. I have carried my mother-in-law's lamp in my lap on every trip we have moved. This one was no exception.

So many random bits and pieces of nothing 'decorate' the counter tops and window sill. I have picked up a couple cheap herbs to try and get the heavy smell of cigarette smoke out of our non-smoking room.

It works only so-so.

We have two electric hot pot burners to cook on. They do not get hot enough to boil water. But, we can cook our own food, which is important. We also, surprisingly, have a teeny tiny dishwasher, which leaks. Still, who knew homelessness came with a dishwasher.

And, one of the most important things that happened this week was, for my birthday, my family got together and brought me my baby. My daughter and my husband each drove 8 hour round trips and met half way to transfer the cat from her world up to ours. 😊❤️️

When the kids ask why we would 'choose' to live like this, I make up a chipper, "This is what we have chosen, for now," story. Instead of the truth, which is we have fallen into a hole that we will never climb out of and have no other options.

As long as we don't turn to them for help, that is the story they want to hear.

As I have often mentioned, my first memory is of my older sister sitting on the back steps of our home, with me on her lap, telling me I had a baby sister. I have only very faint memories of that house beside that one memory.

I can remember the back hallway and the staircase going up to the bedrooms. Actually, I remember jumping down those stairs. What felt like ALL the way down the stairs, must only have been a step or two.

Though I've seen handfuls of holiday photos from Christmases on Ashland Avenue, no memories remain of time lived there. That is a sad realization, because I know most of my older siblings childhood memories revolve around a place that I do not recall.

My life begins to spin into existence on Sunset Lane. Running up and down the rolls of new carpet waiting to be put into the new living room. Nights spent out at Green Lake before we moved back into town, into the not quite finished house.

I even recall a joke told by middle of the night radio hosts while we were out at the lake. "Did you here about the girl who swallowed bullets? Her hair came out in bangs." I don't know why, but for some reason, in the dark quiet of the sleeping cabin, with only the radio for company, that joke scared the bejesus out of me. Of course I was five.

Then, the day before I was to start kindergarten, when I was soooo excited, I fell asleep in the 'huge' pink chair in my brand new bedroom. And, woke up with the chickenpox! Needless to say, I missed the first day of school and more.

That bedroom, across the hallway from my mother and father was a little girls dream. it had twin beds, cuz I shared with my two year old baby sister. She didn't seem young at the time, but then again I was just barely five.

The room had bright red carpet, pink and white daisy wallpaper (years later my mother in law would have the exact same wall paper in her kitchen, but in yellow daisies) and white ruffled cafe curtains that matched the white bedspreads. Plus, we each had our very own white dresser and closet. A tiny table and lamp with a ruffled white shade was between the twin beds.

One of the coolest things ever was on every Thanksgiving night, I could see the multi colored Christmas lights on the town water tower lit up for the first time each year, from my bedroom window.

Older sister back from Germany. She brought me a bar of Germany soap wrapped in paper and a fancy round plastic box from her trip. I still have the soap in its box under my bathroom sink.

And in that bed, with the it's fluffy ruffled bedspread, I had my own imaginary friend. My friend was an angel, surprisingly enough, named Mary. Every night when I went to bed, my angel would sit up at the top of my bed, on my headboard and watch over me as I slept. She even placed an invisible shield over me to protect me while I slept. Sometimes she would go up and down the back hill with me, but mostly, she just watched over me while I slept.

My sister, Molly, and I spent hours playing with paper dolls out on the front step of our house. Or inside the front door if it was cold out. And, since we lived in Minnesota, that was most of the time. We drew hopscotch on the front walk and hid inside of the trio of ash trees in the front yard, back long before they grew into a solid clump. We could stand in the middle of all three trees.

We would sneak out on Christmas Eve night to see if Santa had come, but we were both to scare of getting caught, we scampered back to bed before we were sure. Then we would sneak out again, long before street lights, would feel the bottom of our stockings. Sure enough, Santa had brought our apples and oranges.

Always apples and oranges.

Then, back into the bedroom again, both giggling because we were too nervous to reach up and feel the top of the stockings for the real goodies.

Sisters, sisters
There were never such devoted sisters,
Never had to have a chaperone, no sir,
I'm there to keep my eye on her

Then, there was the year Molly brought in two blue stuffed puppies from under the tree. Yes, the little sister had braved the pre-Christmas dawn alone. Molly gave me one and said, "This is yours," and kept the cuter one. 'Mine' was a light blue sleeping puppy and 'hers' was a royal blue puppy with wide open eyes.

I was jealous, cuz she got the cuter one.

Later, when everyone was up, mother, yelled at me cuz I had taken the puppy that was meant for Molly, and made me switch it back. I was so happy that I got the puppy I really wanted, that I didn't even care that I was yelled at. I, being young, did wonder how MOM knew who was supposed to get which little blue puppy. That wide eyed puppy went with me years later, when I went off to college, and then spent years snuggled up with my own children's 'best' stuffed friends.

I realized now, that sister had wanted the cuter puppy, as well. I also know that mother gave her the one she thought was cutest. Both thoughts make me sad.

Caring, sharing
Every little thing that we are wearing
When a certain gentleman arrived from rome
She wore the dress, and I stayed home

Way back when, when families were large and cars were torture chambers, sister and I spent many a vacation viewing the world backwards. We road in the station wagon with seat facing the rear. Up north, out to Montana, we saw everywhere we had been and not where we were going. That was also when cigarettes were never not being smoked. When one went out, another was lit. No wonder I was car sick all of the time.

And finally, whenever we called out, "I'm thirsty," it was met with, "Have a drink of beer." The,"I don't like beer," received the response of, "Then you aren't thirsty." Remember, this was in the car on family vacations. The only available fluids to drink, for passengers AND driver, was BEER.

Two different faces, but in tight places

We think and we act as one

Below are a couple of photos were taken in Shelby, MT in July, 1973. This was the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Dempsey Gibbons Fight in the town. It is, of course, our families claim to fame. This year, many of our family and extended family gathered and celebrated together. I love the photo with my father's writing on it.

All kinds of weather, we stick together

The same in the rain and sun

Through the years, the one consistency, was the summer trip to Montana. Sometimes, Yellowstone or Glacier National Parks, but mainly Big Hole Valley and always trout fishing.

The Bighole Battlefield

lt was one of our most often visited places: On August 9, 1877 gun shots shattered a chilly dawn on a sleeping camp of Nez Perce. By the time the smoke cleared on August 10, almost 90 Nez Perce were dead along with 31 soldiers and volunteers. Big Hole National Battlefield was created to honor all who were there. link

In later years, the 'Ghost Town of Bannack was added to the yearly, then occasional, visits.
Bannack was founded in 1862 when John White discovered gold on Grasshopper Creek. As news of the gold strike spread many prospectors and businessmen rushed to Bannack hoping to strike it rich.

This photo, above, is the only photo that I know of where my family got together for a family picture with my grandparents. Taken in front of my Aunt Pam's home, it is also one of the few trips I ever remember taking down to Illinios. I can count the number of times I spent with my grandparents during my lifetime on two hands. We just never went down there and they never came up. 😢

Middle school Halloween party.
Things got harder during the teen years. Part of the problem, I think, is way back then, I had no idea my family life was different from everyone else's home life. When friends told me how great my mother was, right after she had dragged me into some random corner to whisper her typical, "You suck," messages, I couldn't understand what my friends were talking about.

I lost myself inside the efforts of making our family life look perfect. I took over all of the baking and decorating for Holidays and every days. I held parties where every detail had to be just right. From streamers to hay bales, music and food. Theme was everything.

I didn't drink. I didn't smoke. I didn't dare walk off of that perfect child line.

Meanwhile, I was working hard to make sure everything was just right. That meant baking chocolate chip cookies the size of quarters every single Saturday. Teeny tiny cookies, just to prove I could do it. The more the mother said she wouldn't have the patience to bake such small cookies, the more insistent I became to keep those cookies teeny.

Molly went off full fledged sports and friends.

And, the mother worked hard to build up a wall between us. Once I went off to college, she forbade Molly from talking to me on the phone. We were only allowed to talk to each other when Mother Dearest was in the room with us.

For a few years, we lost close contact. I still went to every volleyball game and basketball game and softball game she played. And after every game, Molly had to ride home in the car with us, not on the bus. Never on the bus.

That was part of the "I'll jump out of the car, cuz you didn't play well enough," crazy mother stage. And, yup, she WAS driving every time she threatened to jump.

At the time, it felt like an eternity, but really it was only a one or two years. Then, Molly graduated and moved away from home.

During the summers, when we both moved back home, we played softball, together. We didn't need permission to talk to each other or be together.

Growing up, we found the connection we had always had side by side by side. From white fluffy beds, to chasing fireflies after dark up at Snaptail, to fly balls out in the Grandy ball fields.

Those who've seen us
Know that not a thing could come between us
Many men have tried to split us up, but no one can

I eat Burger King chicken sandwiches today, because the very first one I ever had was in the car driving out to my brother's wedding with Molly and my parents. Molly insisted I had to try one. I don't know if I how much I like them or just the nostalgia they bring up every time I get one. Still, when every I am truly sad, my husband brings me one home. They are my comfort food.

We spent hour cleaning closets together, side by side. Laughing and joking and playing. Not realizing it was work.

We went from fighting over clothes, like typical teenagers, to swapping dresses on Easter Sunday, just because we could.

And, when it came time to choose a Maid of Honor for my wedding, there wasn't even a choice. The same beautiful smile that I woke up to every morning since I was three, was standing up with me that day, too.

Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister
And lord help the sister, who comes between me and my man link

We spent as much time together as was possible from 2000 miles apart. The phone became our connection. Long before cell phones and cheap rates, we talked multiple times a month. Our phone bills were outrageous.

Yes, I talked on the phone all the time. This to the same person I used to make do all of my phone calling when we were little because I hated talking on the phone so much. I still do. The only people I talk to know are my husband and kids. She was my connection to the world when we were teens. ☎️

Thankfully, she came home as often as she did. My heart breaks even more, if that is possible, when I think about how she was moving back to Minnesota in 1997.